Issue 150, Spring 1999
The cattle carry their birds out from under
The tresses of the willow tree, past
The Ancient Ship and into the blooming pond.
With loose-legged balance, egret search the shore.
The cow’s legs slowly disappear until
The cows drink with ease. The cows think, if they think,
There isn’t enough ship here to build a barn.
Towns above us arch precariously close
To God. Only the Cherubim condescend
This far. Unskilled in lighting and finish work,
Unable to control the circular saw,
They idle on the ridgepole, like seagulls
Upon a beached humpback, forecasting